


serendipity

by mahariels (lovevigilantes)



Series: querido [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Attempted Murder And Also Flirting And Also They're My Dads And I Love Them, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Warden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 15:52:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovevigilantes/pseuds/mahariels
Summary: "And if Zevran is to die, if this is to be his end, he is certain of only a few things. Most importantly: he will not die a pleading, broken thing."An alternate take on how the attempted assassination scene went.





	serendipity

“  Let me do it right for once, 

            for the record, let me make a thing of cream and stars that becomes, 

you know the story, simply heaven.” 

\- Richard Siken, Litany in Which Certain Things are Crossed Out

  
  


 

 

 

Zevran had always prided himself on his ability to keep things at a distance. He was no marksman, to be certain (he hadn’t the patience nor the inclination to learn as a youth) but when it came to a flash of a smile, a pair of hands roaming across soft skin—no one he knew could compare. Even in combat, the seduction was much the same: a touch here, a whisper there, and before one could properly think it’d be over in one way or another.

The Grey Warden is an archer; something like certainty plants itself firmly in his stomach, heavy as stone. No matter, he thinks. All the better.

Zevran runs straight towards him. If the Warden were to loosen his arrow, it would be over in an instant—Zev knows his aim is true, has heard enough from the rumors about the boy, a mere eighteen years old, more than a head shorter than Zevran himself and thin as a vine—but he does not, even as the assassin comes closer, closer, closer still. Distantly, he hears the Warden’s companions shouting, even hears the dark-haired witch cry out  _ Maroden!  _ in a panic.

Still, the boy does not shoot. It all happens in only a matter of seconds, but it may as well be an eternity. Zevran comes closer. The boy does not shoot. The battle wages on around them. Zevran comes closer. Calls out some generic taunt.The boy does not shoot.

When Zevran lunges, the Warden punches him directly across the cheek. There is a brief moment of shock—a passing  _ well, that’s not how I thought this would happen _ that flits through his mind—before he hits the ground.

  
  


It takes all of fifteen minutes for Zevran to go from welcoming the abyss with all the enthusiasm only a lover could hold to something like—like—

Well, shit.

  
  


It takes a moment for him to come back to himself after awakening. In truth, he hadn’t expected to wake at all—but, then again, the rumors of the elf’s supposed savagery seemed obviously and grievously exaggerated.

Zevran closes his eyes. His mouth tastes like blood, and he can feel it drip down from his temple but that had always been a part of his charm, hadn’t it? The thin line between danger and warmth, the pouting lips whispering  _ come closer, my love _ as the dagger found its mark? And if Zevran is to die, if this is to be his end, he is certain of only a few things. Most importantly: he will not die a pleading, broken thing.

He feels a boot press against his chest. He opens his eyes cautiously. He looks so much like her it aches, this boy who looms over him.

The Warden leans forward; Zevran gasps as a sharp pain shoots through his side.

"Good morning," the Warden says, voice high and reedy and undoubtedly  _ smug. _

Zevran groans and opens his mouth to speak, but the Warden pushes down on his ribs with his foot again and all that comes out is a loud curse.

"D'you really have to do that?" another voice says, further behind Zevran. "You're just being cruel now."

The dark-haired witch snorts derisively. “This assassin nearly kills us and you’re worried about whether we’re making him comfortable or not?”

“Well, when you put it like that—”

"On the contrary," Zevran quips through gritted teeth. "You're absolutely hospitable. In fact—"

"Stop talking," the boy above him interrupts, black eyes narrowing. He digs his heel deep into Zevran’s ribcage. "Who sent you?"

“Those are two inherently contradictory statements, dear,” Zevran gasps, smiling in spite of himself. The Warden takes a deep breath, shoulders tensing.

“Who  _ are  _ you?” he asks.

Zevran hesitates—only for a second, but long enough for the smaller elf to notice and roll his eyes before adding: “Your  _ name _ , idiot. What’s your name _? _ ”

“Ah—I would prefer to chat  _ without  _ your foot breaking more of my ribs, if it isn’t too much to ask.”

Zevran closes his eyes, bracing himself for a blow, or perhaps something worse; instead, the weight on his chest lessens, and when he opens his eyes, the Warden looks—sheepish? 

( _ He’s practically a child, _ Loghain told him.  _ Should be simple enough, for someone as expensive as you.) _

He sits up slowly and takes in the scene around him: all those men he’d brought with him were butchered, some corpses still recognizable, some completely burnt-out husks. In contrast, the Warden himself looked almost untouched, although the blonde man with him sported a fat lip and a swollen eye. 

“Well then,” says the Warden. “What’s your name?”

Zevran swallows. “Zevran,” he responds. “Zevran Arainai. Zev, to my friends.” He winks—a bit halfheartedly, since he knows his chances of survival are slim to none, and for all he’d wished for death it seemed a bit cruel to have it all drawn out so long—and, to his surprise, the Warden looks taken aback. 

“I’m—I—I’m guessing Loghain sent you?” the Warden stutters.

“Perceptive,” Zevran says gently, grinning.

“How much did he pay you?” 

“Pay  _ me? _ Nothing. Pay the Crows?” He shrugs. “A hefty amount of gold, I’m certain.”

The Warden pauses, seeming to consider his words for a moment. The red-haired woman begins to interrogate him. The Warden does not interrupt; instead, he walks a few paces away and sits himself next to the party’s large, slobbering mabari, who wags his stubby tail. He pulls his hair from its ponytail and Zevran watches as the inky black tendrils snake their way down to about his waist, thick and shining. The Warden combs his fingers through it as the woman—Leliana, he hears one of the others call her—continues pressing him with questions.

He can barely look away from the Warden, who chews his lower lip as though thinking, who spends the entire time tapping his fingers against his knobby knees as though Zevran were worth the contemplation, as though he held the life of someone important in his hands as opposed to a lowly assassin who freely admitted his guilt without a second thought. A coward. A criminal. A no good—

“Come with us,” the Warden asks.

  
  


He hides his surprise well when the Warden asks him to join them in their fight against the Blight. He floats by on an adrenaline rush that nearly matches the excitement being a Crow gave him. He decides he’ll fear the consequences of gambling with his own life sooner or later, but for now, he rides the lightning.

“I was never told  _ your  _ name, dear Warden,” Zevran says as he follows the group back to camp. “Since we are to be— _ business  _ partners, shall we say—it’s only fair.”

The Warden doesn’t speak for a while, only watches his hands as he carefully ties and reties the laces of his boots. “Maroden,” he says, barely loud enough for Zevran to hear. “Mahariel. Maroden Mahariel, that is.”

“Maroden,” Zevran repeats, making sure to say it slowly as though he were testing the name out, tasting each syllable as it left his mouth. “A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Maroden laughs, all traces of his former shyness gone, replaced with a grim mask that makes him look smaller and older all at once. “A  _ pleasure. _ Sure. Consider yourself on probation.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” Zevran says.

**Author's Note:**

> anyway Maroden is my dad and also my son and i love him


End file.
